To Waste Champagne
by BlueKikari
Summary: Departure from a location didn't equate departure from the memories. Hershel Layton understood that simple fact all too well. What he didn't grasp was that confining and bottling emotions can only take oneself so far until they burst.


Hershel Layton had never cared much for alcohol. It wasn't so much that he disliked the taste, but for the short time he had been able to purchase his own liquor he was known to be a "snob" for his discerning choices. It mattered little to him however, as his love for tea was made explicitly obvious to anyone who saw him routinely.

His tendency to avoid drinking was also aided by his distaste for its other attributes. Tonight however, he embraced them wholeheartedly. He was adverse to avoiding his problems in this manner but today had brought far too many reminders of what he had lost, or rather, what he had let slip through his fingers.

A shudder traveled down his spine remembering that instant. His hand grasping Randall's wrist. That deep, looming pit beneath his best friend. That awful, all consuming chasm. His strength betraying him. Hershel gripped the bottle tighter as he imagined grasping Randall in the same manner he clutched this empty container. Randall slipping, falling, falling, crying out, silence.

No, no, no, he was done dwelling for tonight. It was time for this bottle to burst and for those memories fall instead….

Clark Triton had just returned from a lovely date. Brenda always knew how the two should spend an evening together when the pair had time, whether it be a trip to London's fine museum or a taste of some exotic cuisine. "Hm, spare time…" Clark muttered to himself as he fumbled with the keys to his shared dorm. His first year of college had just begun, however that didn't stop his pile of work from getting grossly large.

Tackling it tonight was certainly not happening as it was about nine in the evening when he unlocked the door. Not so late as to wake his roommate but late enough the he expected him to be back. However, the first thing Clark noticed after opening the door was the oppressive darkness enveloping his shared home.

Turning the corner, he noticed a single kitchen light was weakly illuminating one Hershel Layton as he sat down at the table directly under it. An empty bottle of champagne was gripped tightly in one hand. The other hand laid in his frayed nest of hair, while the rest of him was hunched over the table. He seemed still when Clark first turned the corner.

He would have immediately thought Hershel had drunk himself silly and passed out if it hadn't been for the soft whimpers coming from his roommate. A mantra of quiet sobs leaked from his mouth, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Clark was understandably concerned as he had never seen his newly acquainted classmate in such distress. He shuffled over and laid a hand Hershel's shoulder. "Are you alright, Hersh? Champagne seems like hardly the sort of beverage to down the whole bottle of… Much less by yourself."

Silence only followed for several long moments, furthering Clark's concern. However, what broke the silence pushed him past worry and left him in mild shock instead. Hershel suddenly stood, gripping the bottle tightly in his hand while looking down at it with anguish. In his intoxicated state of dismay, he found himself rambling out a slurred explanation.

"We were all going to celebrate together with this champagne. Sneak out of our houses after we got back. All drink together not caring that we weren't of age- I screwed it up- let it slip away. We were going to be so happy and I-" another sob racked his body, cutting him off momentarily.

Taking the opportunity to interject, Clark attempted to reason, "Hershel, I don't understand what you're going on about. You're not making any sense! Please try to relax and tell me what the problem is." In a flash, Clark remembered several instances where his roommate had woken him up by thrashing in the middle of the night, presumably from a nightmare. Was this what they were about?

Bringing his attention back to Hershel, Clark immediately regretted that statement. Right after the words left his mouth, he shook Clark off of him. With an uncharacteristic bout of energy, Hershel suddenly cried, "No, no I'm sure you don't! You have never seen a friend die in front of you and know that it is entirely your fault! You never had to go back and tell all those waiting for him that you let him down- that he won't be coming back! You never had to waste a bottle of champagne on a dream you let slip through your fingers." With that, he let the empty bottle fall to the floor; shards of broken glass littered the ground in a way reminiscent of a scattered jigsaw puzzle. For the time being, neither of the two men could bring themselves to care.

"Oh Hershel… I had no idea…" Clark stammered, still not in complete understanding of his anguish. Reaching over to grasp the trembling man's shoulders again, he slowly (albeit awkwardly) led him into an embrace.

"I'm s-sorry Clark I-I'm still a blot even here. I made a mess of the kitchen and I sh-shouldn't have… made such an outburst." Hershel managed in a shaky whisper. "Ah Hersh, don't be like that. Think of the bottle like one of those puzzles you're so fond of." Clark interjected, "I mean we don't have to put it back together, but it does make you think of one, right?" he tried to lighten.

No response followed but his friend's trembling had begun to wane. Clark stood back, keeping his hands firmly on Hershel's shoulders. "Look, Hersh, I'm not sure what extent of trauma you've been through recently… But you shouldn't have let it boil over in this manner." Hershel refused to meet his eyes.

"I'm not going to lecture you like a parent, I just wish you had told someone is all." Clark sighed, "Look, I know we haven't been acquainted for all that long but don't feel like you can't share your burdens with me."

Hershel was both grateful and scared by this invitation. Grateful that he would finally have someone by his side again after losing each of his former friends to that incident. Scared because that left him open to lose someone again. Scared because he wasn't sure if he could relinquish his walls yet. Scared because, what if he would be hated for his story, what if he really would be to blame, what if he was simply meant to be alone...

No, Hershel was tired of closing himself off. He wouldn't let himself spiral down in this manner once more He would accept Clark's offer. Glancing up, he smiled for the first time that evening, albeit a small and wary one. "Clark…. Thank you…" Hershel managed in a light murmur as he began to sway.

"Alright well, you're still rather inebriated it seems. Lets get you into your room, Hersh. You're going to have such a headache tomorrow, you know?" Clark chuckled. Hershel groaned.


End file.
